WindSeeker (34 page)

that she was trying her best to maul him. Her strength was no match for his inexplicable fury. She

wondered what she had done to deserve such treatment.

His free hand tore at her gown, knocked her resisting hands away, and ripped open her bodice. He

thrust his hard fingers inside the gaping tear to squeeze painfully at her breasts.

"Conar, don’t!" she pleaded, the pain of his hand an agony in her heart. She tried to buck out from

beneath him, but in one violent move, he flipped her onto her belly and straddled her, dragging her skirt

up about her waist.

"Let me show you what disobeying will bring you!"

Liza grunted as his knees insinuated themselves between her thighs. He shoved her legs as far apart as

they could go. She opened her mouth to cry out, but her breath caught, her body was rigid as he hoisted

the lower part of her body off the floor. The dry shaft of his manhood sunk into her with a tearing,

burning, restricting probe of pure agony.

She tried to scream, but he brought up his hand from guiding the intrusion of his shaft into her and

covered her mouth, effectively silencing her cry for help and release.

There was no gentleness in his touch. No passion. No emotion. Only the cold, impaling thrust of rage

and revenge. With every jab of pain, she heard him grunt in satisfaction and felt sick to her stomach. He

withdrew, then jammed himself as hard as he could inside her once more and she felt him shudder. Felt

his seed spurt within her, heard his last animalistic grunt of satisfaction. She gasped as he pulled out,

rolling away as though he had done nothing out of the ordinary. He stood and picked up his discarded

shirt. He wiped himself with the silk and tossed it into the roaring fire.

Liza drew up her knees, clutched her skirt over her naked, trembling legs, and stared at him as he

walked calmly to the armoire and withdrew a pair of breeches and shirt, a pair of boots. He stepped into

the breeches, drew on the shirt, calmly laced it, and then sat on the edge of the bed to put on his

footwear. Never once did he glance her way. Nor did he speak.

"Why?" she asked, her voice nothing more than a whisper. He acted as though he hadn’t heard her. He

pulled on his left boot. "Why, Conar?" she repeated.

He totally ignored her as she got painfully to her feet and crept toward their bed. He pulled on the other

boot and then brought his thumb up to his mouth, wet it, and then rubbed the toe of his boot to remove a

smudge. He didn’t appear to even feel the dip of the bed as she sat beside him.

"Tell me, why?" When she put a shaking hand on his shoulder, he sprang off the bed and spun to face

her.

"Never," he told her in a soft, deadly voice, "never put your filthy hands on me again."

"What have I done?" Her voice broke with tears. "Tell me what I’ve done."

He lunged at her, his hard knee dipping the bed as he came up close to her. Gripping her chin in a fierce,

hurting grasp, he put his face nose to nose with hers. "I want you gone from this keep before the week is

out. Do you hear me, bitch? I never want to see your ugly face again!" He snatched away his hand and

ran it down his breeches as though her touch had contaminated him. The look in his eyes said it had.

"Why?" she repeated, pitiful tears streaming down her ashen cheeks.

"He fucked you! He put his seed in you. Didn’t he? You conceived his brat!"

She gaped. "Galen?"

"Galen! Or has there been more than one man whose prick has been inside your filthy cunt?"

He had never used such words to her, had never treated her this way. And never since she had been

brought back from Norus had he ever spoken of what his twin had done. Did he blame her for her own

kidnapping? Her rape? The pregnancy that had resulted from Galen’s perfidy?

"I want no leavings of Galen McGregor in my bed! Get yourself gone from here, slut, before I take your

adulterous ass before the Tribunal and charge you with seducing my brother!"

"What?" She could only whisper, for she was deeply shocked.

"I said to get out, whore! Don’t make me have to tell you again!" He stalked to the door, ripped back

the bolt, and slammed out. He pulled the door closed so hard behind him, the top portion came away

from the casing and leaned crazily into the room.

Once in the hall, he stumbled, his body lurching, as the effect of the milk and tenerse subsided. He

clutched at the wall opposite his door and slid against it. The madness began to evaporate.

"Oh, god," he breathed as he slumped down the wall. What he had just done came rolling back to him in

waves of despair. He replayed it in his mind as though it was still happening. He shook his head in denial.

"What did you do, McGregor?"

He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but knew he had. He hadn’t meant to mention Galen, but he could hear

himself accusing her all over again. He had only wanted to make love to her, but he had gotten carried

away.

"
You’re quite mad, Conar
," an inner voice told him. "
And one day you’re going to kill her with that

madness. Send her away before you do her further harm
."

He hung his head. If he didn’t make Liza leave, that voice might prove to be right.

Later that evening, Legion found his brother sitting in the darkened study. No one had seen either the

Conar or his lady since late morning. Neither had come down to the noon meal nor the evening one.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"It suits me." Conar was stretched out in his father’s chair, his booted feet crossed at the ankles, a

tankard of mead in his hand. He took a long draft on the brew he had drawn himself, and then wiped the

back of his hand across his mouth as he ignored Legion.

"Can you stand some company?"

"Come in or leave. It makes no difference to me."

"Is it just me or are you mad at the entire world, Coni?" Legion asked, crossing his arms and leaning

against the open door.

"What the hell do you want, A’Lex?" Conar drained the tankard and set it on the floor.

"Actually, Conar, the gods put me on this earth with the express purpose of annoying the hell out of you.

They commissioned me with the primary objective of finding ways to drive you crazy."

"You do your job admirably well."

"Why, thank you," Legion said happily, entering the room. He hooked a low stool with his boot and

dragged it toward him. He sat beside his brother, resting his chin in his hands.

Conar stared at him for a full ten minutes, neither man looking away, neither speaking.

Finally, Legion broke the silence. "Why is Liza leaving for Oceania on Friday?"

Conar flinched, but covered his reaction by shifting in his chair. "Who told you she was?"

"Gezelle. She’s packing for Liza right now." He searched his brother’s eyes. "Did you two have a lover’s

quarrel?"

Here was the question Conar had been pondering. Here was being offered him the perfect reason for

Liza leaving Boreas. Legion didn’t have a clue as to what had happened that morning, and Conar knew

Liza would never tell anyone what went on between them in the privacy of their bedchamber. He was

more afraid of Legion finding out about what the Domination had done to him than even his father finding

out about it.

"Is that it?" Legion asked. "Did you two fight?"

Conar tried to put a look of misery on his face. "Things have been strained between us lately. We

decided it best that we be apart for a while. So much has happened, we need time to think."

"You’re talking about Galen, aren’t you?" Legion put his hand on Conar’s knee. "Do you blame her for

what Galen did?"

"No!" Conar snapped.

"Are you sure?" Legion watched him closely.

"Of course! This has nothing to do with Galen’s treachery." He averted his face.

"How long will she be gone?"

"Until we have come to terms with what is troubling us." With what is troubling
me
, he thought dismally.

Legion sighed. "You two know what’s best for you, but I wouldn’t let her go if I were you."

"You’re not me."

"I know, and we do things differently, don’t we?"

Conar felt as though he were being chastised. His smoldering anger, never too far from the surface, leapt

up in his gut. "Aye, that we do."

Legion stood. "Don’t sit here too long, okay?" He held out his hand. "Still friends?"

Conar would have preferred to knock away the proffered hand, but he stilled the urge, gritted his teeth,

and gripped Legion’s wrist. "We’re still brothers. Nothing has changed between us."

"Good," Legion quipped, not sure about the hostility he sensed in Conar. He released the prince’s wrist

and turned to go. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Conar staring sullenly at him.

"He’d take her away from me if he could," Conar thought aloud as he watched Legion disappear up the

stairway across from the study door.

A shiver of alarm ran through him. What difference did it make? He had lost her. He knew he could

never touch her again. Not after the rape. Not after the horrible things he had said, the terrible

accusations. He was unclean, unworthy of her. Tainted with more than just the evil of the Domination’s

magic.

He stared into the gathering darkness as the moon eased across the sky and sent patterns through the

lace sheers at the window. A morose expression settled on his features. Slowly he covered his face with

his hands, his shoulders finally sagging with the weight of his guilt.

Even half-drunk, he could feel the enormous strength of his power flowing through him. If he strained his

ears, he could hear conversations throughout the keep. He could even picture—or was it
see
?—what

others were doing. He found he could read other’s thoughts as easily as reading a book. He could sense

their unspoken feelings, their worries, their fears. Could tell moments before something happened that it

would. Could will certain things to happen simply by wishing it. He was looking at the world with a new

understanding, and he realized not even Liza nor Tohre knew how immense were the forces working

within him.

The violence within him, the power straining to get free, was becoming harder to control by the hour. It

was an evil force that ached to destroy. To hurt. To maim and kill. The awesome energy that had shot

through him this morning hadn’t lasted long. He knew that, if it had, he would have lost what little mind he

had left.

What if you had seriously hurt her, Conar? his conscience pricked him
.
What if you had killed her?

He groaned. That could well have happened.

After this morning, he was terrified he would either maim or kill her in one of his violent outbursts. To

protect her, he knew he had to send her away. His words to her had been vicious insults, taunting jibes.

He hadn’t thought he’d meant them. Now, he wasn’t so sure. If she was as far away from him as she

could get, maybe she would be safe from his insatiable need to hurt those around him. At least until he

had figured out a way to leash the growing fury. That he could, he had no doubt. It was only a matter of

how and when.

Such overwhelming power had to be utilized wisely or it would end up destroying the man who

possessed it. He could see the potential for using it for good instead of the evil that tried to break free.

He had to find a safe way to channel it. A way to use it instead of it using him. So far, he had not been

able to, and he feared for Liza’s safety during those times. With her far away, she would be free of the

evil with which he had been smeared, the evil which soiled his very soul.

He could still see her wounded, tearful eyes when he had left her. He could still hear her hurt question.

He could no longer claim her as his wife knowing what he had done, how he had hurt her. It might even

be best if the marriage was dissolved.

A flash of intense longing and need went through him. He wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t allow himself

the luxury. Tears were for men who had a soul, a conscience. He wasn’t so he possessed either

one—anymore.

* * *

entire night in the darkness of the study. In the darkness as black and bleak as his being. Soon, the keep

would be up and stirring. The kitchens would prepare the daily meals. The chambermaids would scurry

about with fresh linens. The servants would be about their labors. The outriders of his Elite would be

saddling up to patrol the town of Boreas where word had reached the keep that Galen McGregor had

been spotted.

The inhabitants of Boreas Keep and the Great Palace of the Winds would yawn and stretch and rise,

bathe themselves, dress and come to their meals. They would eat and drink, and then be about their

businesses. His father would be in his office early; Legion and Hern would be on the training fields

overseeing the troop that would be leaving on maneuvers in three days’ time. Sentian, who Conar had

appointed personal attendant, valet, would be riding out to look over the lands that belonged solely to

Conar as firstborn heir. Gezelle would be mending a few of his shirts that had endured his wrath. And

Liza—

Would be preparing to leave him.

He went to the window and stared at the first faint glow marking the false dawn. His fingers gripped the

velvet curtains, crushing them. His heart broke at the same time his anger roiled with the need the lash out